A Warped Hand of Cards
by a-lonely-scribe
Summary: Steampunk AU! Willem grunted when he entered the room, his one eye swivelling to where he stood, pipe clenched between his lips, but unlit. His eyepatch was flipped up, allowing everyone the gruesome sight of twisted flesh. Willem always served to stand as a reminder for what they were fighting for and he never bothered to hide his wounds. Not like Nikkolaj.


_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, this is all for fun. Further if you notice a few Full Metal Alchemist similarities, well I lay no claim to that either._

_This might be a bit of along haul, so bear with me. It started as a oneshot, but spiralled out of control._

_J__ust to let you all know it will feature some violence at some point. Likely some blood, and also definitely some swearing._

_Also some ships. But I am kind of still letting those work themselves out but I can tell you this (Denmark/fem!England, Netherlands/Norway, Prussia/Liechtenstein, maybe some fem!ROK/USA (but likely onesided).)_

_Also:_

_Denmark: Nikkolaj_

_Netherlands: Willem_

_Norway: Lukas_

_fem!England: Elaine_

_Liechtenstein: Lilli_

_Iceland: Emil_

_fem!ROK (South Korea): Jeongmin_

_If more characters/ships are added I'll add it in here and let you know at the beginning of the chapter. Sorry for such outrageous starting notes. _

* * *

**A Warped Hand of Cards**

**Chapter One: Timeline Zero**

He pulled up the sleeve of his collar shirt, the metal screws tugging roughly at the fabric. Gently, gently, don't rip it. He was sick of sewing invisible patches into his shirts, repairing entire arms with needle and thread and old bleached white bed sheets. The metal clanked, nestled lightly in the fabric, and he buttoned it up one handed.

He'd learnt to use only his left hand after it happened and no one had ever commented on the sudden change. He shrugged into his black jacket, less gently, and pulled on the white gloves he always wore. The knuckles were constantly darned, painstakingly every evening.

He glanced at himself in the warped mirror in passing. Hair askew, a scar slicing his face in two. He almost looked normal, not like he had been through a war.

The corridor of the old house he lived in was cold and a dim light flickered in the distance. The others must be gathered there. Willem grunted when he entered the room, his one eye swivelling to where he stood, pipe clenched between his lips, but unlit. His eyepatch was flipped up, allowing everyone the gruesome sight of twisted flesh. Willem always served to stand as a reminder for what they were fighting for and he never bothered to hide his wounds. Not like Nikkolaj.

Tino was there too, rolling a cigarette between two fingers, rifle resting against his shoulder. He was constantly on guard even though they were in their safe house. Supposedly no one could touch them there – or so Elaine in her infinite arrogance had claimed. Lukas claimed less, but Nikkolaj knew he slept better knowing that he and Elaine had done their damnedest to keep their hideaway untraceable.

He sat, unbearably thin, stiff and unseeing as always, beside Berwald. He didn't even look up when Nikkolaj came to the doorway. Berwald's eyes flickered up, but he changed no facial expression and his movements on the tattered map on the table did not still.

Fiery, emerald eyed Elaine pushed past Nikkolaj, brusquely, pushing her elbow against Nikkolaj's metal arm. The two locked eyes and Elaine lifted the right side of her mouth in a mocking gesture. "Time to see your mechanic again." A dark eyebrow lifted and her expression turned almost wicked, "Can't have you getting rusty." Elaine had always been a shrew. Nikkolaj grimaced. Even worse, she was right, it was time to see the mechanic.

Berwald cleared his throat. It was a deep hoarse sound alongside the electronic buzzing that permeated the safe house. Everyone turned to face him except Lukas. Lukas continued to stare straight ahead, unseeing. The only evidence he had heard Berwald was the downward tilt of his mouth. So it was time. Nikkolaj flopped next to Willem. Berwald kept his voice low. "We hit them here and here," punctuated with gentle map tapping, "It should cripple them. If our intel is correct." His voice became sterner, which Nikkolaj had not realised was even possible prior to the fighting.

Elaine was lounged indolently across a now threadbare chair, looking imperious as she examined her fingernails. "It is correct," a drawl of the conceited, "They have never led me astray before."

Willem rolled his single eye at Elaine, but confirmed his statement, "They're a solid bunch."

Berwald nodded, a barely noticeable incline of his head. "Then the plan goes as discussed." Tino lit his smoke, the sound of paper fizzled in the air. Nikkolaj found himself praying to ancient, long vanished gods in silence, his mouth moving soundlessly. The strike would happen two days hence, which meant that he had to visit the mechanic tonight.

* * *

The shop was always well-lit and seemed to be almost cheery despite the concrete gloom of the walled city they lived in. There was a heap of twisted metal in the corner – one of Gilbert's never ending innovations. The short pale haired man's grin split his face when Nikkolaj walked in. "I've got somethin' new if you're interested." He gestured to the monstrosity laid out on one of the work tables, an arm that had a fold-out axe. "One ova kind. Won't see nothin' else like it."

Nikkolaj shook his head, "No. The point is to keep the whole fucking world from knowing I've a fake arm."

"That arm and the one you're sportin' now are works of art. They deserve to be shown off."

"Brother," the heavy hand of Ludwig came to rest on Gilbert's shoulder, "Leave him alone."

Nikkolaj smiled at Ludwig and Gilbert frowned. "Hell you're gonna need this masterpiece for what you've all got planned. An' I'm jus tryna do you a solid." Ludwig rolled his eyes upward, but Gilbert took no notice, "But clearly my fucken genius isn't appreciated by you dumbasses." He stomped away, his metal leg gleaming in the lamplight.

Ludwig shook his head, "Sorry about him. He gets a little crazy when there is blood in the air."

"And he'll never fight again?" Both of them turned and watched Gilbert stump around throwing metal scraps together like magic with screws.

"No." Ludwig's voice was heavy and fell around their feet, "He is lucky to be alive. Fighting now would be a death sentence. And he knows it." Nikkolaj kept silent – rare for him – and eventually Ludwig sighed, "So you are here for a tune up, not an upgrade?"

"Yeah. Just the regular. Wanna be in working order."

Ludwig nodded and gestured to another work bench across the shop, "Sit and I'll see what I can do."

Ludwig's workbench was frighteningly neat in comparison to the chaotic organization of the rest of shop, which was clearly Gilbert's domain. Both Beilschmidt brothers were organized neat freaks and their shop was both cluttered and methodical at the same time. Nikkolaj had never seen anything like it.

The shop was quiet, save for the clattering that accompanied Gilbert's frantic building. Ludwig worked on Nikkolaj's arm much more placidly and carefully, gently tinkering with the screws and springs and gears that made Nikkolaj's arm work. Finally he stood back and wiped his hands, "Well that should do it."

Nikkolaj rotated his shoulder and felt all the gears clink and clank as they responded to the motion. "Feels way better than it used to."

"Yes. Gilbert modified some of the innards in the shoulder section. He said it would respond to the nerves better."

"Thanks man. Whaddo I owe ya?"

"The regular."

Nikkolaj pulled some coins and crumpled up bills from his pocket and Gilbert hollered across the shop, "Next time you don't make an appointment its double, you good for nothin' bum! Think we don't get any other customers?! Can't be waitin' on you every damned time you walk in here yuhknow."

"Pff," Ludwig rolled his eyes, "Ignore him. Come whenever you want and always for the regular. Beer on Thursday still?"

"Unless we die." Nikkolaj gave a mock salute to both brothers at the doorway. Hopefully they didn't all die.

* * *

It had started raining sometime during the evening and it made the outside world even more gloomy than it was to begin with. That was why he never left the damned shop, even preferring to sleep in it rather than trudging back through the dismal concrete labyrinth to his house. Gilbert flicked the butt of his cigarette into the mud and ground it beneath his metal heel. What a rotten night. He pulled the collar of his jacket up higher and fastened the clasps.

A flash of lightening uplifted the sky and for a few brief moments Gilbert caught sight of the skyline with the squat concrete buildings dwarfed by the glass monuments which formed the Estates. Five Hail Marys. Thunder crackled. Gilbert sighed as the rain began to fall harder and tucked the rosary back under his shirt.

The shop was still warm even though they had dampened the fire hours ago. Ludwig was still working, cleaning different benches, his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. Gilbert lit another lamp and tugged off his shirt. His chest plate always ached in this kind of weather. "Brother, I thought you had left."

"No." Gilbert pulled his goggles down off their hook, "Its fucken pissin' outside."

"You're going to sleep here again tonight?" Gilbert didn't have to look up from the thin plate of metal he'd selected earlier for his newest project to see Ludwig's disapproval. "I wish you wouldn't do that you know."

"I wanna remodel my chest piece." Ludwig laid a hand on Gilbert's arm and Gilbert flicked up his goggles, irritated. "What?"

"Just don't try to attach it yourself. The last time you tried that you nearly bled out."

Gilbert frowned at the memory, but Ludwig didn't let go of his arm. "Do you think they will succeed this time?"

If Ludwig was surprised by Gilbert's change in topic, he didn't show it. "We can only hope."

Gilbert flung his hammer down on his new chest piece, suddenly furious, "I want to go with them."

"You'll die." He said it so simply.

"I want vengeance."

"You. Will. Die."

"But this one will be better. I'm gonna fix the way it pumps blood through me."

"Not before they strike."

"If I work all night-"

"Go home brother," Ludwig interrupted, taking the goggles from Gilbert's forehead. "I'll break your legs and cart you there myself. You made a promise remember?"

Gilbert scowled and then picked up his jacket from where he had flung it over the axe-arm he had been trying to sell Nikkolaj earlier. "Fuck you both." He stomped back out into the mud.

Lightening flashed again and Gilbert felt himself childishly giving the Estates the two fingered salute. Thunder split his ear drums. One day, Gilbert vowed. One day he was going to personally make the twins pay for what they had done to him.

* * *

He found his brother standing by the huge floor to ceiling windows overlooking the slums. Storm clouds swirled around the tower they called home and rain pelted off the glass. Lightening sparked jagged puzzle lines through the clouds and cracked loud with thunder. It lit up the entire room, but shrouded Matthew's iridescent eyes behind his glasses.

"They're planning something." Matthew's words cut ragged and hard through the air, leashing Alfred.

"How do you know?"

Matthew tilted his head back over his shoulder. Lightening crackled again making his glasses glow. "Yao's subordinates are not as trustworthy as he thinks they are," his smile turned eerie in the light, "You should chose your allies with more care, brother."

Alfred frowned and Matthew turned back to the window. Though Alfred did not believe that Yao's kin would forsake them, it was like Matthew had the allseeing eye – he knew of things happening before they occurred. Clearly he would have to have another talk with Yao about their operation. Thunder boomed, Matthew did not flinch from the window. Alfred sighed. And tighten security, who knew when the terrorist cell would strike again.

* * *

Willem had asked her to scale the side of the main building and let them right in the back door. The challenge itself was tantalizing, never mind the targets. How she wouldn't love to sink her knife into their flesh and find out if they truly did bleed like humans.

For jobs like scouting she often dressed normally, the bushy frocks, slashed with coloured petticoats, hats adorned with flowers and feathers. Showier than half the women in the area, stand out to blend in. Willem had ruffled his eyebrows high on his scarred forehead, his one eye widening in surprise when he saw her. "Aren't ya gonna be noticed?"

She had laughed at the time, lips curving upwards in a smirk, tinted by a deeper than expected melody of laughter (everyone expected a high pitched giggle, like the child she was not) and winked. "Watch and learn."

All she had needed was a tiny bit of information, couldn't do her job right if she didn't obtain all the necessary particulars surrounding a job. She did have a reputation to maintain after all.

The glass fortress was locked up tight and well guarded – even to pretty women in fancy clothes, with girlish faces that were supposedly favoured by those within. No matter. She had enough detail to go by. Memorised the layout, the number of screws holding the door hinges closed, the basement shaft where the coal was dropped into – barrelfulls like clockwork once a week.

This was a special job though, she had told Willem as much at the time – weeks ago now – and would require preparation. The boys were anxious to act now, but all good things require patience. The flash of a fire destroys, but does not always kill, however water wears to nothing if given enough time.

Burglary was a different art than espionage and she needed some tools. A girl's work was never finished. The door, even with its triple mechanised lock, was surprisingly easy to break into and she slipped through the near darkness of the shop, hopping over scattered metal contraptions and twisting around large wooden work benches. Her hand enclosed around a clipper that did away with even the strongest of metals. "And just what do you think you're doin'?

There was the flicker of flint and a lamp flashed into life. Gilbert stood before her, eyes gleaming reddish, bathed in the flames' orange light.

"Borrowing these."

"You aren't very stealthy for a damned thief." He set the lamp down on the table.

"I'm borrowing it, not stealing. No need to be sneaky." Gilbert raised an eyebrow, but did not comment when she placed them in her bag, along with a few other assorted tools from his workbench. She knew just where to look, his cataloguing system had been developed long ago and they had met each other in what now feels like a different age. Back then he had been the one slaying foes, while she had stayed at home and crafted, though in thread and fabrics instead of wire and metals.

"And what sort of job requires the lease of my tools?"

"A special one."

"Lilli." Her voice caught at his tone and any offhand remark remained caught in her throat. "I hope you aren't goin' where I think you must be."

She bit her lip at the look in his eyes, the sloping line of his frown in his hollowed out face. Her reluctance to answer in itself was an answer and his jaw grew all stiff in the dim light. He looked torn between yelling at her not to go and begging her to take him too. Neither would happen, though she would have liked to witness the proud man beg, and both sat staring in deadlock for far too long.

Finally Gilbert heaved a sigh that came from the depths of his chest and sounded like the windings of the cogs in his metal ribs, "Be careful." Words uncharacteristic almost seemed to linger in echoes throughout the deathly quiet room.

Lilli could still hear them chiming in her eardrums, even as her head hit his shoulder with a dull metallic clank.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. Any advice, criticism, reviews, whatever are welcome. If you notice any spelling or grammatical errors please do not hesitate to point them out!_


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